Sideways
by gracie3
Summary: reposted. What do you do when your best friend turns into the love of your life? A little JackKaren, but very sad by the end.


Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Will & Grace, so be nice and don't sue. 

Note: Howdy all. Here's a new ficcie. It's centered around Karen's life; her entire life from when she was young to the present. A little Jack/Karen, but ultimately pretty sad. Certain events that occur here were actually mentioned in the show (i.e. Karen's father's death, the big falling-out with her mother). I've done my best to be accurate. This fic is extremely sad and tragic. 

Sideways

_What do you do when your best friend turns into the love of your life?_

            Bleak. The whole place was bleak. Karen knelt in front of the stone, and laid a bouquet of red roses and holly on the snow-covered ground. She put one hand on the cold engraving… cold just like her marriage. 

**STANLEY****WALKER******

**1945-2003**

**Beloved Father, Husband, and Friend.**

            The irony of the words struck Karen, and she felt herself smile bitterly. She didn't even care that she was kneeling in snow in a skirt. She looked down at her hands, the gold band of her wedding ring heavy on her left hand. She looked back at the roses, down at her hand, and took her off her ring. She laid it inside the bouquet and stood up. It was done. She renounced death: the death of her marriage and the death of her husband. 

            The limo waited, and Karen brushed the snow off her knees. She headed back for the plush comfort of familiar, sad luxury. 

            She hated December.

* * * *

            "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snooooooow!" Jack leapt into Will's apartment, grinning from ear to ear, snow still dusting the shoulders of his jacket. Will and Grace looked up from their respective coffees and papers.

            "Hey, G, hey Will," Jack greeted breezily. "Anything new in the old frigiderarium?"

            Will grinned. "I got Krispy Kremes."

            "Wee!" Jack headed for the box, and touched his donut to Grace's in a sort of toast. 

            "Merry holidays," Grace said. She nodded towards the menorah that was set up next to Will's Christmas tree. "We're getting into the spirit early this year."

            "Uh-huh, uh-huh." Jack stood munching his donut like a little kid, a smear of chocolate on his nose.  "I made up my wish list, by the way." He pulled out little slips of paper from his pocket, and set them down in front of his friends. "Just a few recommendations."

            Grace unfolded the paper. "Um, Jack? This is really long."

            Will did the same. "What did you do, write this on toilet paper?" The paper flopped limply to the floor.

            Jack did his famous fake laugh. "You kill me, Will. I tell you." All business again, he folded his arms. "And you'd better hurry up. There's like two weeks of shopping left."

            "Hey, Selfish," Grace said, putting her coffee down, half-amused at Jack's antics. "What did you get us this year, eh?"

            Jack paused, and then narrowed his eyes. "It's a secret," he said mysteriously, and headed for the door. He turned at the last moment. "Anyone seen Karen lately?" he inquired.

            Will looked at Grace and they both shook their heads. "Nope. Last I heard she was going to visit Stan's grave," Grace said. "Maybe she's back at home by now?"

            Jack shrugged. "She promised to take me to Barney's." 

            "Just before you go, Jack," Will called after his friend's retreating figure. "You have chocolate on your nose."

            "It makes me all the sweeter!" Jack called back, and the sound of the elevator doors closing reached them. 

* * * *

            The sound of the doorbell woke Karen out of her half-doze. "Rosario!" she called. No answer. "Rosario!" 

            Nothing. 

"Hmph." Karen got up off the sofa and headed for the front of the house. The bell rang again, insistently. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" she called irritably.

Jack's smiling presence greeted her, blue eyes, fur hat, snow, and all. She felt a little knot of tension relax in her, inexplicably. "Hi poodle," she said, moving aside so he could come in. Jack shook the snow off himself, dusting his best friend in white. 

"A little winter joy for you," he joked, brushing the snow off her. Karen laughed a little. "So hi, Kare." He put an arm around her. "Why the sad face, eh?"

Karen shook her head. "No big deal. Winter always gets me down." 

"Did you go see Stan?" Jack asked. 

Karen smiled up at him, a little bitterly. "Yep. Responsibility called."

"Oh." Jack said, grinning. "Come on, Karen, I know exactly what'll cheer you up. You promised to take me to Barney's. Come on, we'll share a dressing room and everything."

He knew exactly how to make her feel better. "Charge me a little happy," Jack begged, sticking out his lower lip, aqua eyes pleading. "Pleeeeeeeeease?"

She could never resist that puppy dog look. "Okay, okay." She ignored her tired body and let Jack lead her by the hand out the door.

Barney's was its usual hive of activity, and Jack made a beeline for the satin shirts, dragging his best friend straight there. They ended up laden with clothes, hunting for an empty dressing room. 

Inside, Jack immediately divested himself of every article of clothing except his boxers and socks. Karen watched his reflection in admiration; drinking in the solid, lean lines of his body, the muscles… she shook her head. She was practically drooling. 

Then she noticed Jack's look of amusement and felt herself blush clear down to her toes. No man except Jack could do that to her. Hell, all he had to do was _look_ at her the right way and she felt like her cheeks were on fire.

"Come on, Kare, dress me," he said, holding his arms out at his sides. "I'm all yours." They played this game every time, standing like little dolls while the other decked them out in all the new clothes. It made for some good laughs, especially when Jack ended up in the skirts and sheer blouses. It was also an extremely erotic game, and Karen often had to remind herself that Jack was gay before things got too out of control.

She selected a soft blue sweater and jeans, and Prada loafers. She knew what looked good on him, and nothing looked better than cashmere. Jack put his arms up over his head and grinned like a little boy. Karen pulled the sweater over his head, and swung her arms up round his neck, placing soft kisses along his jaw line. She had to stand on her tiptoes to reach him. She _loved_ the foot's height difference between them. Jack dipped his head and caught her lips in a deep, forceful kiss that stole her breath and the floor right out from under her.

"Careful," he murmured right up against her lips. 

Karen pulled away, suddenly unable to breathe. "Okay," she managed. Oh, she wanted him, but she couldn't have him. So she pulled the jeans off the hanger and handed them to her best friend. He grinned, pretending to be a stripper, swinging his hips in time to some imaginary music as he slid into the jeans. "Stripping in reverse?" she asked, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

Jack laughed delightedly. "Your turn, Kare." He rummaged through the clothes, coming up with a silvery shirt and a scandalously short black skirt that had a slit up-to-there. Karen's mouth fell open. 

"You want me to wear _that_?" she said. 

"Sure do," Jack said, reaching out to unbutton her blouse. 

"Oh, I don't know…" Karen hedged at the thought of a skirt that short. 

"Come on, indulge me." Jack kissed her nose lightly and slid her shirt off her shoulders. "I really want to see it on you."

She sighed, giving in. "All right, all right. Gimme." 

She slid into the outfit and turned in a circle. "You like?"

"I _love_," Jack said, sweeping her up into his arms and spinning her around. 

"Jack!" Karen managed through her surprise. "There's barely enough room in here for that!" 

"So?"

She smiled. That was Jack… irreverent, exuberant, and sweet. She loved him. She had seen him two nights ago with his latest boyfriend and, through the violent wrench in her heart, had smiled and offered them a lift in the limo.

Of course he had refused, blue eyes shining, and gone sailing down the street without a backward glance. He could be so incredibly selfish and unfeeling sometimes, she noted, but those apologies… she shivered involuntarily. Once he had shown up at her door in nothing but a towel and a sign around his neck that said "I'm Sorry". She didn't even remember what he had done that time, but his smile and contrite kiss on her cheek made her feel like she had never known an unhappiness in her life. 

"Now come on, let's switch." Jack pulled the sweater off and went for the buttons on her blouse. He decked himself out in her finery and struck a pose. "Don't I look sexy?"

Karen was nearly in hysterics as Jack pranced around the tiny space. He pulled her into a dance and she went with it, despite the fact that she was dancing in her underwear with a man in a skirt that barely fit him. 

"Okay, okay," Jack said breathlessly a moment later, slowing to a stop. "Let's go."

"You mean we're not buying any of this?" Karen indicated the clothes now scattered around the little room.

"No, silly!" Jack exclaimed. "What's the point of sharing a dressing room if you're going to _buy_ the things you made a fool of yourself in?"

Karen frowned for a moment, pondering this. "Good point," she agreed. Zany logic, but it worked for her. She settled for watching as Jack put his regular clothes back on. She did the same, scrambling to grab her shirt before Jack decided to take it and hold it over his head. When he did that she had absolutely no hope of reaching it, and it often took a long time for him to relent. Most of the time he required something (she giggled here) such as a kiss (no pecks, always tongue), or a go at the twins (his name for her breasts), or something of that nature; all that work just for a shirt. Oh, she wasn't going to lie: she loved it.

 They sailed out of Barney's a half hour later (Jack had seen a pair of shoes he wanted). The cold felt refreshing, rather than the slap in the face it would have been normally. Jack didn't care. He had his best friend, new shoes, and a limo waiting for them. He grabbed her hand, twining his fingers in hers, and led her to the limo.

The Walker penthouse was quiet except for the few stray servants doing some frantic last minute dusting. Karen had only to clear her throat and they scurried off out of her sight. She followed Jack up the stairs only to be blocked by cardboard boxes. "What's this?" she wanted to know. "Why am I being blocked from my own upstairs?"

Rosario came out, puffing, carrying another big box. "Rosario, what is this?" Karen demanded. 

"Hold on a minute, Boozo," Rosario said, and set the box down. "Oh, my back." She faced her boss. "This," she gestured around at the mess. "Is the remaining possessions of your late husband."

Karen's lip curled in disgust. "Well get it the hell out of here. I don't want any reminders of that man's presence. Come on, Jackie." She made her way slowly around the boxes, she and Jack holding onto each other for support. 

"Miss Karen?" Rosario was standing over a box. "Are these yours?"

"What could possibly be mine in all that junk?" Karen asked. 

"I don't know, but somehow I get the feeling Mr. Stan didn't keep these pretty notebooks," Rosario said, pulling one of the books out.

Karen gasped. "My journals." How had he gotten those? They were the only things she had kept with her when… when she… Karen grabbed the book and the box. Thankfully it wasn't large. She hauled them away, her heart pounding, Jack following. 

"Jeez, Karen," Jack said. "What's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal? What's the big deal?" Karen repeated incredulously. "Jack, that man had the most personal things I have ever owned in his closet! Which means he probably read them which means he…" She covered her eyes with her hands. "It doesn't matter," she told herself. "He's dead now, right?" She looked at her best friend. "Nothing he can tell anybody."

"Are you okay?" Jack moved the box aside and sat on the bed. "Maybe… maybe he just put them there to get them out of the way," he suggested.

"No." Karen sat down beside him, body hunched in an attitude of defeat. "I had them locked somewhere I thought was safe. Oh, God, Jack, how did he find them?"

For the first time, Jack saw just how scared she looked. He saw how humiliated she looked, and he changed his perspective on his best friend. She was a superwoman, able to endure anything as long as she had her flask and her poodle by her side, but she was not invincible. He never thought she had a breaking point, but it had just been found, and exposed in a pretty brutal way. If there was one thing Karen Walker (Karen _Delaney_, he reminded himself: she was no longer a married lady) valued, it was her privacy, and the right to it. "Well, even if he did read it, he's dead," Jack said, echoing her previous words. "So he can't do anything with whatever you wrote."

Karen nodded numbly. "Well, I'm gonna go," Jack said a moment later. "Promise me you'll call me if you need to talk." He crouched down in front of his best friend, who couldn't even look at him. "I love you, sweetheart."

Karen buried her head in his shoulder. He smelled so good; his arms were so comforting… "Good night, poodle," she murmured as she let him go. He placed a kiss on her forehead and departed.

Karen turned to the box. "Stanley, you son of a bitch," she whispered, pulling the books out one by one. All of these books, the only places she had felt right storing her secrets… she came across a pink notebook, and recognized it as her first diary, from that summer at Lake Hopatcong… she opened the book.

_August 10, 1973_(she had been eleven, she remembered)

_            I hate my mother. I wish she could see me! I wish my mother would give up on her con artist crap long enough to see that she gave birth to a daughter, not a partner in crime. I can't wait to get back to the city, even if it is __Brooklyn__. Maybe then I'll get a chance to relax._

            Karen closed her eyes and thought back to that summer.

* * * *

"Karen Lynnette Delaney!" Lois Delaney's irate voice rang out across the lake, and Karen rolled her eyes, ducking under the water. _If I ignore her, she'll go away,_ she thought. She swam quick, powerful strokes toward the shore and came up only for one breath before streaking away. 

"Karen, if you don't get yourself out of that water immediately there will be hell to pay!" Lois continued. "I mean it. If you want anything new at all you get your little behind back in the room pronto." 

Karen headed for the shore, doing a leisurely crawl stroke with a superior smirk at her mother. "If you're sunburned, I swear to God…" Lois threw a white towel at her daughter. "Get inside."

"Of course, Mommy, I wouldn't want to ruin your little story about me being allergic to sunlight," Karen shot back sarcastically. "Or have you given up trying to swindle that old man out of his money?"

Lois clapped a hand to her forehead, melodramatic as usual. "Karen," she hissed. "You will shut your mouth."

Karen rolled her eyes and shoved past her mother back through the balcony doors into their hotel room. She sat down on the bed, dripping lake water. She needed a shower but she didn't care.

Then she thought about the people who had cleaned this room and headed into the bathroom. The shower was blessedly warm. She frowned at her reflection in the full length mirror installed on one of the walls. What pervert had put that thing there?

Karen perused her reflection and made a face. She hated her body. It was entirely too round and curvy for an eleven-year-old. Her breasts were too big, her hips too obvious… she felt as if she had never had a chance to be a little girl. Her body had always been way too far ahead of her mind. "You are disgusting," she growled at herself, and turned away from the mirror. She washed her hair and wrapped herself in a towel. The TV was running the news and she sat down to watch it. 

Two seconds later she was bored. She had no idea why her mother wanted her to care about the world when she was so unhappy in it. It wasn't worth it. She flipped the dial to channel 7 and settled down to watch some good _Mary Tyler Moore Show_. Then _Starsky and Hutch_ would be on. 

During the commercials she hunted in the bureau for a bathrobe. She wasn't planning on going anywhere 'til dinner, and that had to be after dark, ostensibly to keep up with her mother's story. And then she'd be in a proper little evening dress, looking appropriately haggard and sun-starved. She was too pale to tan: she turned beet red and then went straight back to her former ivory pale color. Karen never listened to her mother when she told her she was pretty. Her hair was down to her waist, thick and deep brown, spangled with gold and red. Her eyes were deep brown, doe-like, and her face was round and innocent. Well, not so much the innocent part. She looked fourteen and she hated it. 

Karen let her hair air dry as she sat in front of the TV. She could simply braid it later and be done with it. She didn't care. Her dinner dress was hanging on the closet door. She admired it indifferently for a moment. It was simple, a pattern of tiny rosebuds on light pink fabric. She knew it would reach only to her knees. Sandals were below it, in a box. She turned back to the TV. It was only four o' clock. She had hours yet before she could go out again. 

Those next four hours were spent reading, lying around doing nothing, and wondering where her mother was. Most likely on the golf course with what's-his-face… the Rich One, she called him. An old man, worth a fortune… oh, God, what her mother probably had to do… for a moment she almost pitied Lois, and then her pity turned to revulsion when she thought of what her mother probably _had_ done. "Ugh," she said to herself. "Why anyone would get married is beyond me."

* * * *

Karen turned the page and read through sixth grade and seventh grade. Of course that scam had worked, as had the many others, and that had meant various and sundry trips to here and there and new clothes every so often. They lived the high life off the backs of others, and Karen was revolted by it.

She set the pink book aside. It was full of complaints and ranting, and she had to get to bed. It was already nearly ten o' clock. Then she laughed. What a commoner's thought, she mused, and headed down to the kitchens for a drink.

The next morning, she was at Grace's office by eleven. 

"Karen."

No answer. Karen was holding a Vogue magazine but she didn't seem to be really looking at it. 

"Karen." Grace was used to her assistant's distractedness. "Karen!" she tried one last time.

"Hm? Oh, sorry, honey," Karen looked up from her magazine. "What's happening?"

"Are you all right?" Grace asked, looking up from her fabric samples. "You seem more distracted today."

"Oh, no, I'm fine," Karen lied quickly. The phone rang and Karen ignored it, as usual. Grace waited for her to pick it up and then shook her head. Karen, act like a real assistant? What was she thinking? With an indulgent grin towards the dark haired woman, she picked up the phone. 

"Grace Adler Designs," she greeted.

"Hi, lady!" Will's voice came through the receiver and Grace smiled. "Are we still on for lunch?"

"We sure are," Grace said. "Pick me up."

"Okay," Will said. "I'll be there around twelve."

"Okay," Grace echoed. "See you then." She hung up the phone and looked toward Karen's desk. Karen was gone. Grace sighed. She'd be back sometime later during the day, most likely. 

Meanwhile, she had samples to attend to and a demanding client. There would be time for worrying about Karen later.

Karen herself was standing in front of the elevator. She didn't even realize that she hadn't pushed the down button… or any button at all. She was thinking. 

The elevator door slid open, scaring her badly. "Aah!" she shrieked as Jack stepped out.

"Holy--!" Jack echoed, startled. "Kare, it's just me!"

"Sorry, poodle." Karen put a hand over her heart. "I guess I've just been feeling a little paranoid ever since… I found out my husband knows all my secrets."

Jack put an arm around his best friend. "Karen, no one is going to tell your secrets."

Karen shook her head. "That's not the point, Jack. My life… my life belongs to me, and that includes the memories. And the worst part of it is I don't know how he got them. Do you know how violated that makes me feel?"

Jack sighed. "Come on, Karen, take me out to lunch. I'll make you feel better."

Karen thought for a moment. "You know what, Jack? I think I'd rather be alone right now."

"All right," Jack agreed slowly. "Just… Karen?" 

She looked up at him. "Don't go through this alone, okay?" he said, blue eyes pleading with her, but never letting too much concern reach his voice. He knew she hated to be pitied.

Karen smiled a little. "Thanks, Jackie."

He bent down and kissed her cheek and watched her go. 

Back at the house, Karen returned to her perusal of the books. The next book was black, with her name in silver tooled letters. She opened it and thumbed through the first few pages. She sounded almost normal, she mused. 

Then something caught her eye. A page with unusually messy handwriting. She frowned and looked at it in puzzlement. It was dated 1975. She was 13.

_OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD_

_I can't believe this. I can't do this. I hate him. I hate myself. Why God? TELL ME WHY YOU LET HIM DO THIS TO ME?! WHY DID YOU LET HIM GO NEAR ME? WHY DID YOU LET ME BE SO STUPID?_

The page was wrinkled with dried tear spots. Karen closed her eyes. She remembered this. When she was raped. 

This was something hardly anybody knew, this incident in eighth grade. Not even her mother knew about the whole thing. Karen started to read again, feeling hollow.

_I am in so much pain right now. I couldn't even get on my bike this morning and I tried so hard. I can't even move. _

_I shouldn't have gone into his car. I shouldn't have tried to break up with him. I shouldn't… I shouldn't even be alive. Oh, god, I shouldn't even be alive. What if I'm pregnant? What if he did something horrible to me internally? What if what if what if_

It was so disjointed, and Karen remembered the frenzy of terror she'd been in and how she'd hidden it. She remembered going into the bathroom afterwards, burying her face in all the towels and screaming and screaming and screaming. She remembered the pain of the bruises on her ribs and the pounding of her heartbeat in every part of her body. She remembered the nausea, the loathing she'd had for him at that moment, the blast of pain. 

_He called me horrible things, and I think I believe them. Bitch, slut, whore, peasant, child… CHILD! Like I was some kind of insignificant being. He's only 16!! I hate him. I hope he dies. I hope… I hope I'm going to be okay. I don't want to give up…_

Karen felt her eyes well up with tears. She slammed the book shut and bent nearly double, weeping. And Stan knew about all of this. Who had he showed these to? Had he laughed? Had he even cared?

She tried to calm herself down. Taking deep breaths, she picked up the book again and read through a few more pages.

About a month's worth of pages later, she found another sheet written in black pen.

_I'm pregnant. _Those two words still made her shiver.

_I'm fucking pregnant. Thank you, God. Thank you so fucking much, __Bryan__. Oh I hate my life. That little test tube says I'm pregnant. With child. Enceinte. Lovely. Oh, someone kill me now. My mother will kick my ass. My life is over. OVER! Do you hear me, book? OVER!_

Karen bit her lip to still the trembling. She read on, resolutely, like a soldier marching into his last battle. Two weeks later she found the next milestone. Three days before Christmas.

_Oh god oh god oh god. The baby's dead. Oh god. It's my fault. I thought about this, I knew I would never do it, and I did it. _

_I'm no longer pregnant. Thank you, long flight of stairs. Thank you, mercy. I want to die now. _

_What did I do, you ask? I stood at the top of the stairs in this building, shut my eyes, and let myself fall. And when I hit the bottom, I got up. And I walked back to my house. And I took off my clothes before the blood could get on them, and I sat in the bathtub until it was over. _

_Four fucking hours. And it wasn't done until the next morning. I sat in that bloody water until I could move again, and then I washed it down the drain. Oh god, I washed my baby down the drain. And then I rinsed myself off and went to bed. _

Karen wanted to scream. Why was she doing this to herself? Why was she going back through the past? She only knew that she never wanted people to know these things about her.

She shut the book, this time for good. She didn't want to think about that time. Stan had never managed to get her pregnant… well, she never let him, not after that first experience. And then when she had thought she was pregnant that day a few years ago… she didn't want to go through that hell again. Not even Jack's incredibly sweet gesture of taking a test with her did anything to ease the anxiety.

She got up off the bed and went into her bathroom to wash her face. It was going to be a long day.

* * * *

She had gone back to work later, but nothing really gotten done. Well, that wasn't unusual. She braved the concerned looks of her friends and finally headed back home at six. She hadn't even had the energy to drink a normal dinner.

It was eleven o' clock at night and she was sitting on her bed again, staring at the pile of books. They were becoming an obsession. She had barely thought of anything else the entire day. And wasn't she justified? How dare someone steal her entire life out from under her, especially with everything that had happened… no one should know about her past. It was horrible. It was no one's business.

For all her life, Karen had been used to doing things for herself, on her own. No one had ever been allowed to interfere. Karen shut her eyes and took a deep breath. These books held her life in their pages, from the time she was eleven to a maybe two years ago. There were about thirty books. And she knew somehow that Stanley had read them all.

So Karen made a decision. It was time to go back and face her demons. There was no reason that these books should haunt her. She didn't think she could handle feeling like this forever.

She picked up the phone and dialed a number.

* * * *

"Hi, Karen." The door shut and Karen looked up gratefully at her friend. She knew there was no one else she would rather have hear this because she knew there would be comfort at the end.

She poured two glasses of wine and began. "I never thought I would end up this way. And I need to tell someone what's going on. That's why I called you."

"I'll be here for as long as you need me, Karen."

Karen took a breath and started. "I have too much ambition for my own good. I'm a fool that way."

* * * *

The little TV in the tiny living room was blasting the news. Seven-year-old Karen Delaney was sitting in front of it, trying to block out the sound of her father's snoring. He was so sick, and she couldn't help feeling pity for this poor man, constantly in and out of the hospital for his chemotherapy treatments, her mother scraping by on what money they had… she shook her head and focused on the latest murder in the Bronx.

The little Delaney apartment on the Lower East Side was well-scrubbed and well-kept, but so small and disconsolate (if a home could project such an air) that Karen wanted to spend as much time outdoors as possible. She danced at the local YMCA and swam there too in the summer.

She was a pretty girl, or so her mother had told her. She dressed herself well by personal choice, and was fastidiously neat in her own surroundings. Her room was girlishly pink and white, as big as a shoebox. It was undersized but it was home. It was like a living dollhouse.

Karen jumped a little as her father startled in his sleep. She turned anxious eyes on him and turned back to the TV.

She heard a deep-chested cough and ignored it. Sometimes he would cough horribly in his sleep and wake up fine a few hours later. Karen shut her ears to the sound. That was why she didn't hear the strangling noise a few minutes later, nor notice the cessation of breathing a few moments after that.

She switched off the TV at the conclusion of the news and moved to wake up her father for dinner. "Daddy, wake up," she said, touching his arm gently. If he was woken up too fast he jumped and was likely to fall off the sofa. "Wake up, Daddy, it's dinner time."

Gregory Delaney didn't move, nor open his eyes. Karen poked him. His skin was cold, and she suddenly drew back in horror and screamed.

Lois Delaney came running out from the kitchen, still holding her dishcloth. "What? What happened?" she exclaimed, seeing the terror on her daughter's face. 

"He's cold," Karen whispered. "Mommy, Daddy's not moving!"

Lois ran over to her husband and touched his face. She started to cry. "Greg? Greg! Oh, God!" 

Karen started to cry too. Lois went for the phone and dialed 911, and Karen was left to look at the body of her father. He looked oddly calm, which was a change from his usual pained expression. 

Five minutes later, Gregory Delaney was being loaded, in a body bag, onto a stretcher like so many groceries in a bag. Lois clung to her daughter, who was still trembling.

And an hour from then, the official cause of death was cardiac arrest. Karen and Lois sat in the hospital waiting room in shock, tears running down Karen's face. She had touched a dead man. Oh, God, her father was dead. 

There would be no wake, only a small funeral at St. Augustus the next day. Karen, clad completely in black, mourned her father in silence. Her mother stood next to her, stony and impassive as the Twenty-third Psalm was sung softly. Karen crossed herself at the end of the service and quietly followed the burial service in the cemetery next door to the church. 

The headstone was carved "GREGORY ROBERT DELANEY, DEAR FATHER AND HUSBAND". 

Karen would visit it every Christmas, sometimes without her mother, sometimes with. 

"Now it's just us girls," her mother had said to her after the end of the service. "We have to stick together and do what we can, okay?"

"Okay," Karen had whispered, knowing that now she had to trust her mother to provide for her. They would do what they could.

* * * *

Then had come that summer at Lake Hopatcong and with it the long hell of her teenage years. 

At fourteen, Karen had been through enough to last a lifetime. She and her mother had been bankrupt, then rich, then they had moved several times within a year, then her boyfriend had brutally raped her and she had miscarried. Now she was quiet, introverted, and wrote beautiful poems about a myriad of subjects. She smiled when she was unhappy, which was most of the time, and cried only in private and not often. It made her wonder if she was going crazy.

Her mother slowly withdrew from her and became the orchestrator of her insanity. Lois was constantly on the lookout for more scams now, forgetting that now with her waitressing job she could afford the small apartment they lived in now. It went far beyond just finding the money to exist. Now Lois wanted to be spoiled. She wanted fancy clothes and perfumes and jewelry and trips to exotic places. She forgot that she had a daughter and remembered only that she had a pretty tool with which to work her cons. An unwilling partner in crime.

Karen had a faint strain of contempt for her mother now, this desperate woman, straining and working for what a rich man could give her. There were times Lois was embarrassingly obvious. Karen was disgusted.

But she went on with it, because she had no one else.

That was, of course, until she met Logan Addison, when she was sixteen. He was _amazing_. He had the most beautiful blue eyes anyone had ever seen, and he could sing, and he wrote poems and songs. He was sweet, kind, and loving. He accommodated Karen's crazy humor and brought her out to a happier self. 

He was also nineteen and hopelessly addicted to heroin. Karen didn't know this until she found him with a needle one day. And she had been horrified, but she eventually came to terms with it. He never did it in front of her and stayed away from her when he was high. She appreciated that courtesy (how ironic). 

Then one day Karen had gotten up her courage to try the heroin herself. And what a rush. She had spent the whole time laughing with Logan, who was overjoyed to have a buddy to shoot up with. He and Karen would skip school and hang out at his apartment and spend the whole day completely messed up. Sometimes they would drink, and Lois was so wrapped up in her own life and her own projects that she failed to notice her daughter was a junkie.

Before long, though, Logan began to tire of his high-school girlfriend. She took up too much of his time and his smack. She couldn't afford to buy her own, so he always supplied. Now he was sick of having to give up half his dosage because he was building a tolerance for it. So he threw Karen out. 

Karen was devastated at his cruel words. "You bitch; you take up all my time. The smack is _mine_. Pay for your own fucking drugs." And the door had slammed.

Karen holed herself up in a room at a hostel. She was broken-hearted and soon suffering from severe withdrawal. She was in constant pain and could barely eat. But she went through it alone, without her mother or anyone. She slowly went back to school and pulled her grades back up. She never mourned Logan with tears, only with a gradual tearing away of herself. She came down off heroin herself. She built herself up again and trudged on.

High school was one long dark hell for her. She survived and graduated with a 92 average, surprising even herself. College was a choice that was hard to make, but eventually she was going to Manhattan Community. It was 1979, and Karen Delaney was going to make herself into something.

Karen majored in business management. She might as well become self-sufficient. She did well, and eventually she fell in love again, this time with Lucas St. Croix-Popeil.

A veritable collection of names, belonging to a wonderful man. Lucas was so down-to-earth, so lovely to talk to, and he didn't care that she sometimes drank. He came from a wealthy family, which satisfied the ambition that Karen had somehow acquired from her mother. She wanted nice things now, because the rest of her life had been so unlovely. 

To make a long story short, she married him, and they moved into a house on the Upper East Side. Karen was deliriously happy. Lucas indulged her to the fullest, making sure she had everything she could possibly desire. Karen grew accustomed to the wealth. Lucas told her she had free reign with his money and his staff, and Karen St. Croix-Popeil turned into an impetuous princess with a lust for life and love. She demanded things without compunction, and her adoring husband granted her every wish. It was the best time of her life. 

The one thing that rankled was that her mother had not been at her wedding. Karen remembered with a tinge of regret the huge fight that had ended her relationship with her mother forever. She had been sixteen, and had just broken up with Logan, so she was miserable. Her mother was trying to convince her to go along with "just one last job", and Karen had snapped.

"No!" she had screamed. "I refuse to be privy to this bullshit any longer! I'm your daughter, not your con-artist friend!"

Lois, of course, was distraught as her daughter yelled. "I never want to see you again!" Karen had shrieked, and had left the next morning to live with Logan. That ended a year and a half later, just before the end of senior year when Karen had applied to college. She had that summer to recover from Logan, and then it was back into the real world.

Now she was a married woman without her past, or so she thought, as long as she guarded her notebooks and her diaries. Her secrets could stay locked up in there.

Lucas suddenly soured towards his wife. Karen was horrified at this sudden change. She didn't know why, but one day she discovered the truth.

Lucas was cheating on her. The news almost killed her. He was _bored_ of her. Oh, god. He was _tired _of her demanding and her endless purchases and her high credit card bills. Oh, god. He wanted her out. Go away, just go away, just like everyone else. Her mother didn't want her, Logan didn't want her, and now Lucas didn't want her.

Karen was left with a little money from the divorce settlement. She bought yet another small apartment and started to drink in earnest. It banished the awareness that she was unwanted and unloved.

She decided one day that she didn't need to love. She didn't want love and acceptance any longer. She just wanted a bed to sleep in and some familiarity.

Enter Stanley Walker. A married man, distinctly unattractive, and richer than she had ever thought possible. He divorced his first wife for her and they married eight months after they met. 

Now Karen seemed to have reached the zenith of her wealth and glory. Stanley truly let her do anything she pleased. It wasn't the best marriage in the world… she never could make love to him with the lights on, or sober… but it was all worth it. Her closet was like a small auditorium, jammed with the latest, most expensive things the fashion world had to offer. Karen was in heaven.

To amuse herself, she had gotten a job as a designer's assistant. She worked now at Grace Adler Designs.

* * * *

"And that," Karen finished, "is how I ended up in your office working for you without any skill whatsoever. And that's why I called you today."

Grace looked stunned. "Oh, my god," she murmured. "Oh, my god, Karen."

Karen sighed a little. "I know I should have probably called Jack. You didn't want to hear all this, but knowing that Stan found all those books… I didn't know who else to go to."

Grace shook her head, still amazed. "No, Karen, I'm glad you called me. You… you must really have needed to get that out."

Karen laughed bitterly. "Oh, I did. And let me tell you something, Grace. You and Will, and Jack most of all have been my sanity for the past six years."

Grace could do nothing but hug her friend. "Karen, I will always be here for you."

Karen smiled, now sincerely. "Thanks, Gracie honey."

Grace was astounded at the magnitude of Karen's suffering. She had assumed for the longest time that Karen was simply spoiled and had been so for her entire life. She never thought that Karen had had to work so hard for everything she had. Now she saw just how strong Karen really was. Her heart went out to Karen.

Karen looked at the clock. "Dear Jesus, it's ten-thirty. I've kept you here way too long." She took her friend's hand. "I'll send you back in the limo." For some reason she felt generous. 

Grace left the Walker penthouse that evening with a completely different perspective on her assistant. 

Karen turned back to a picture on her bedside table. It was from two years ago, at Jack's birthday party. She was seated on his lap, holding a plate of cake and feeding him a forkful. Jack had his mouth wide open, looking at her adoringly. Karen realized that she looked truly happy in that picture. "Oh, Jack, my love," she sighed, turning away from the picture. This was her new problem: figuring out how to fall out of love with her best friend.

* * * *

Karen packed the last of the books into a big box and had Rosario move them into one of her myriad closets. They would stay there, and Karen would heal from her trip down memory lane. 

Jack would come bouncing into the office as always, and life would begin again.

True to that thought, Jack somersaulted into Grace Adler Designs the next morning, and Karen caught her breath. "Hey, beautiful," he greeted her breathlessly, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Hi, Grace."

Grace smiled at Jack. "What's goin' on, Fembot?" she inquired, using one of Will's nicknames for Jack. 

"Nothing much," Jack replied, leaning on Grace's big table. "Lookin' good, smellin' good. You know; the usual."

Karen smiled behind Jack. Crazy, beautiful man. "Come on, Kare, take me to lunch," Jack said, turning to his best friend.

"Okay," Karen agreed at once, and Jack pulled her by the hand out of the office. He took her to the elevator in the hallway, pushed the button, took her into his arms, and started to kiss her fiercely.

Karen was shocked. "What's this?" she asked, when he let her go. 

"What?" Jack looked completely innocent. "Can't a man say hello to his best friend?"

"Hm," Karen murmured, giving in. "You sure can." She pulled him by the collar back down into a mind-blowing kiss. The elevator dinged open, and Karen let him lean her up against the wall. "You must be horny," she breathed as Jack attacked her neck with kisses.

"No doubt about that," Jack replied between kisses. 

"I love you," Karen moaned a moment later as Jack grew more passionate.

"I love you too," Jack murmured and continued to kiss her. He told her that a lot, but now Karen wanted him to mean it like she meant it.

"No, Jack," she said, stopping him in mid-lick. "I love you. I really love you."

Jack frowned. "I really love you too, Kare."

He was missing the point. Karen thought with frustration on all the nights she had awoken, breath racing, pulse pounding, from intense sex dreams about Jack, and all the days she had spent with him and without him, thinking about him, wanting him endlessly. It had been six years: that was plenty long enough. She needed to tell him the truth.

"Jack, I mean it. I'm in love with you."

There. She said it. It was such a relief.

Jack's face fell, and so did her heart. 

The elevator opened into the lobby of the building, but neither of them moved. The door slid shut, and Jack looked in astonishment at his best friend, her blouse half-open, the marks on her neck already darkening into hickeys. He looked at her, this beautiful little dynamo, and his heart broke. "Oh, Karen."

Karen's smile fell right off her face. "Oh, no," she murmured. "Oh, no."

Jack felt her droop out of his arms. "Karen," he began.

"No, no," she said. "It's okay, Jackie. It is."

Jack stopped her from saying anything else. "Let me talk." He shushed her. "I love you, Karen. I love you more than anyone else on this earth. I worship you, and I love to kiss you and hold you and be sexual and intimate with you. But I am not _in_ love with you. I… I can't."

Karen knew she should have seen this coming. Jack was gay. He was gay and it was impossible, even for all her yearning and wanting, for him to be straight.

Yes, Jack would always kiss her. Yes, he would always excite her to the point where she thought she could lose control, and yes, she would always indulge him because she would always love him. But in that moment, those big blue eyes told her something else. She would never be unloved or unwanted, ever again. 

And that was what she wanted all along. So she took her best friend's hand again, and walked out into the late winter morning.

Only a week 'til Christmas.


End file.
